Page 16 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

I slept like a fucking baby last night. It could’ve been because I didn’t get shit for sleep the night before, but I think that was only part of it.

When I came home yesterday after skipping out on the rest of my shift, I must’ve been in a state of disbelief because the self-loathing I expected to feel never came. I thought it would hit when I woke up this morning, but it still hasn’t.

I lie in the queen-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling. Waiting.

Even as the image of Robin’s face coated in his tears and my cum swims in my mind, there’s no regret.

No remorse.

No pangs of conscience.

I feel no desire for penitence, nothing tempting me toward self-flagellation.

The only thing I do feel is the blood rushing to my cock. The soft sheets shift as my dick thickens, and I quickly throw the covers off of myself before it can convince me to give it some relief. Between that and the comfortable bed, I could lie here all morning.

The cabin I live in within the park grounds came fully furnished.

It’s nicer than the place they gave me at the last park I worked at.

It’s all dark wood and gray stone, a kind of rustic space that makes me feel right at home.

It’s also different enough from Ivy’s cabin that I don’t feel the weight of the two years I spent there suffocating me whenever I’m here.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I hang my head and let out a breath.

If I feel bad about anything, it’s that I don’t feel bad.

It didn’t feel wrong.

It felt… good .

Really fucking good.

There’s still a part of me that feels some kind of way about it, for reasons beyond it being Robin of all men.

I think I’d describe it as along the lines of uncomfortable.

It’s not disgusted. Or immoral. Or shameful.

Just…an unease. But considering I spent most of my life firmly believing it was a sin against God, I’m thankful I’m not rushing to seek penance and punish myself.

Truth be told, I don’t mind this world so much. If I’m going to live out the rest of my life here, I have to adapt.

I think I can do that.

But when I throw in the Robin of it all, well…maybe I don’t want to adapt that much.

Everything gets so fucking murky when it comes to him.

Do I want him? Don’t I?

Do I want my revenge or not?

It would probably be best if I stick to never seeing his face again.

But…fuck. He got off by grinding on my boot, and I can’t stop replaying it over and over in my head. Why was that so fucking hot?

Alright, that’s enough of that before my dick starts getting ideas again.

Standing, I head into the bathroom so I can get ready for work.

When I got home yesterday, I took a long, self-reflecting shower and cleaned the nasty gashes in my arm that the damn magical bear gave me.

They were deep, but they didn’t hurt as bad as they looked.

They were still bleeding when I wrapped the entire length of my forearm, and since the wounds seem to have bled through the gauze, I decide to change it before getting dressed.

I start unwrapping the bandages, and when I get my first peek of the skin beneath, I pause.

It’s… healed?

Yanking off the rest of the wrapping, I reveal that my suspicions were right. The flesh is unbroken. There’s no blood, no ripped and open skin, no pain.

Tossing the bandages onto the countertop, I run my fingertips over my forearm. It’s definitely not just my eyes. The wounds are really gone.

My jaw clenches as a wave of fury crashes over me.

Some person or some force sent us here from Sherwood Forest, and now they’re fucking with us. With me .

Sweeping my arm over the counter, I knock cups and toiletries off onto the floor, their clattering echoing through the small room. I grab onto the edge of the granite, my knuckles turning white, and stare into my own face in the mirror. I barely resist the urge to smash the glass.

I may not know who’s making my life a living hell all over again, but I think I hate them more than I hate Robin Hood.

All morning, I’ve been debating with myself on whether or not I should go to Robin.

On one hand, I told him I never wanted to see him again.

On the other, I can’t shake the feeling that he should know something else happened.

I doubt he has more answers than I do, but, as much as I hate him, I still hate being alone in this.

In this lack of understanding every time two worlds collide.

I don’t fully make up my mind until the end of the work day and I’m already in my truck, driving out of the park.

When I get to the ranch Robin works at, I open the gate and drive through. I’m not entirely sure how to track him down, so I’m relieved when I spot Spencer coming out of what looks to be the bunkhouse.

Pulling up, I roll down my window when he stops at the bottom of the steps. “Is Robin around?”

“Yeah.”

That’s all he says. Just yeah .

“Mind telling me where?” I snap at him.

He grins. “Depends. You’re not here to kill him for stealing your truck the other day, are you?”

I tried, but my dick got hard instead.

“No.”

He narrows his eyes, not looking entirely convinced. Then he tips his head toward the side of the building. “He’s in the shed over there.”

I give him a nod and drive a little farther, gravel crunching under my tires, before parking and cutting the engine. When I get out and approach the shed, I hear hammering coming from inside, the distinct clinking of metal on metal. I open the door, not bothering with knocking.

Robin is holding a steel bar in one hand, the other end of it red and hot as he hammers it against the top of an anvil. He stops and looks up as my boots step on a creaky board.

“Henry!”

He nearly drops the hammer in his shock at seeing me. I can’t say I blame him considering the way I left things yesterday.

“Sorry. Um. Hold on.” He turns away to place the steel bar into the glowing coals inside the forge up against the back wall. As he lets it reheat, he looks back at me. “What are you doing here?”

His voice is rough, his throat clearly still raw from the throat fucking I gave him. If I didn’t have so much on my mind, I might feel more satisfaction.

“I wanted to show you something.”

“Okay,” he says, confusion etched in the lines of his face. “Would you mind just letting me finish this? It’ll only take a minute.”

“Sure.”

I walk around a worktable in the middle of the shed, trying to look anywhere but at him.

It doesn’t happen. My gaze keeps going back to him as he works, the muscles in his back rippling beneath his gray shirt as he takes the bar out of the coals and starts hammering it again.

It’s warm enough in here from the hearth that he doesn’t need a jacket, and I watch as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple.

The muscles in his arms flex every time he brings the hammer down, more defined thanks to his tanned skin.

“What are you doing?” I ask, desperate for something to distract myself.

“Making arrowheads,” he answers in between strikes.

“You make your own?”

I won’t admit it to him, but I’m actually kind of impressed. Now that I know that’s what he’s doing, I can make out the socket of the arrow he’s forging.

He shrugs as he holds the bar up to inspect his work. “It helps clear my head.”

I wish I had something that did that for me. I could use it right about now because being here, having a somewhat civil conversation with him, is fucking me all up.

When he’s satisfied with the socket part of the arrow, he sets the hammer on top of the anvil and lays the steel bar on the brick wall of the hearth. He turns to face me, a kind of cautious bewilderment in his eyes.

“What did you want to show me?”

I hesitate briefly before shrugging out of the right side of my jacket, my gaze remaining on Robin as his lips part.

I swear his breath hitches. Taking a step toward him until there’s only a couple of feet between us, I roll up the right sleeve of my park shirt.

It takes him a moment to break the connection of our eyes before he finally drops his to my arm.

“I don’t— oh . The bear…”

Robin reaches out, and I should stop him.

But I don’t.

His fingertips brush over the skin of my forearm, sweeping over the dark hair there. The sensation is jarring and soothing all at once.

I can’t remember the last time I was touched like this.

My eyelids flutter closed before I can stop them, and I give myself just a second. Just one moment to take in the feeling, the touch of his slightly calloused fingers, warm from the forge.

I force my eyes open, breaking whatever spell Robin was trying to cast on me. His gaze is no longer on my arm, staring into my face instead while his fingers continue their blessed, torturous touch.

I clear my throat.

He practically jumps backward, dropping his gaze. “Sorry.”

I don’t want your hands anywhere near me.

My own words come back to punch me in the gut. I swear it’s only because he looks like a fucking kicked puppy right now.

It has nothing to do with the fact that he was the one to save me from the bear yesterday. Or that he claims to have forgiven me so easily for the death of his father. Or that his touch lights me on fucking fire.

“More magic?”

The question snaps me out of that lingering enchantment. “It would seem so.”

“What does this mean?”

“It means that, five years later, whoever brought us here is still out there, and they want us to know it. I just wish I knew what they fucking want.”

“Do you think they’ll send us back?”

There it is. I can hear it in his tone and see it in his eyes. He doesn’t want to go back. I can understand why. He lost so much back there. Truth be told, I did too. As strange as it may be with everything I went through the first few years in this world, I’m not sure I want to go back either.

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you come? Why did you want to tell me this?”

I shrug as I roll my sleeve down and slip my arm back into my jacket. “Like I said, we were brought to this world together . I just thought you should know. I don’t know who they are or what they want, but it’s better that you know they’re still around.”

“Thanks,” he says with a faint smile. “So what now?”

I can tell he’s asking about more than just this. What now for us ? I’m here, and I’m not trying to hurt him or taunt him or kill him. It appears it might be throwing him off balance as much as it is me.

“I don’t know,” I say again.

His smile falls completely, and he nods again. I just know he’s wanting to talk because that’s all he ever wants to do.

Sure enough, when I turn to leave, he stops me.

“Henry?”

I close my eyes, clench and unclench my jaw, and peer back at him over my shoulder.

“Can we talk about it? About what happened yesterday?”

“No, Robin,” I answer easily because talking about it is the last thing I want to do right now. “It wouldn’t make a difference anyway because it’s never going to happen again.”

If I thought he looked like a kicked puppy before, it’s nothing compared to now. It’s crazy how I can see the hope in his eyes die.

Why the hell would he want it to happen again? I’ve hurt him and hunted him, shot him and made him bleed. I’ve given him more than enough reasons to hate me. I’d much rather him hate me.

“Henry?” he says again when I start to leave once more.

“What?” I ask, exasperated and very tempted to make him shut up again.

“Are you staying in Colorado?”

I consider how to answer his question because I honestly haven’t thought much about it. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing about any goddamn thing. So I decide I can give him something resembling the truth.

“For now. I haven’t quite decided if I’m done with you yet. So you should probably watch your back, little thief.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and I swear I watch as that hope sparks back to life.

I really have to get the fuck out of here.

As I open the door and step outside, I’m surprised he actually lets me go this time.

Surprised. Not disappointed.